


To Drive the Cold Winter Away

by GwendolynGrace



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, Historical References, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Valley Forge, men-without-pants-party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben's arrival at Valley Forge makes for an interesting winter. In particular, it creates unexpected tension between Laurens and Hamilton. Featuring the original "men without pants" party, which really happened, though...probably not like this.





	To Drive the Cold Winter Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FallacyFallacy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallacyFallacy/gifts).



> Technically, this work of fiction fits into the same timeline as my other Hamilton historical RPF, but you need not have read them to understand this story.
> 
> I have attempted to maintain some historical accuracy, but errors undoubtedly exist.

Late in the evening of January 8, 1778, John Laurens nursed a tankard of beer at his desk. He'd begun and scrapped a letter several times already; the discarded sheets of foolscap lay crumpled about his feet like so many white rodents. He tapped his foot in thought.

 _My Dearest Hamilton,_ [he wrote,] 

_All the family wish me to convey to you their sincerest greetings upon the occasion of your natal day, and regret the Circumstances that prevent you being back among us to toast in proper celebration the felicitations of remarkable achievement at reaching the ripe age of one score and one. For myself, I can only add that as anxious as I know you are to return to the full rigor of duty, as your indomitable spirit and indefatigable heroism dictates, I am nonetheless content for you to remain where you are until you are quite recovered and once more capable of making the journey. Do not imagine me happy at your prolonged absence, my dr., nor pleased by the dire illness which caused the same--for our headquarters and indeed our whole company are much the poorer for your being so long away--but we should be all the more dismayed were you to deprive us of yourself for all time. Therefore you must take the utmost care, and mind the advice of your physician, and most especially, Gibby, to ensure that when you do return, it is our Little Lion who is restored to us, and not a mewling kitten. After all, the advanced maturity of twenty-one merits special care, lest agues, gout, chills, fevers, or the pox settle in your aged bones!_

_In all earnestness, my dr. Ham, I entreat you to delay if delay is necessary for your recovery. Be certain that no one misses you more than yr hum servant, but it cannot be questioned that whatever the manner of your present accommodation, it must be more comfortable and infinitely more conducive to your health than our situation._

_The huts which His Exc. demanded to be built have begun to take form, but there are far too many men and too few axes to go round. Just as well there is a paucity of tools, for the lumber is slow in arriving. Meanwhile, the wretches are forced to sleep in tents or worse. Already rations show signs of running low before the harshest winter sets in. We forage daily and come back with little to claim a victory. Soup is little more than hot water with a thin slice of potato; of meat there is but a morsel once a day--and soon, that may stretch to a week--and there is barely enough meal to bake bread. I paint quite the cozy picture, do I not? But I do not want you to rush back to the arms of the family without knowing how it goes here…._

He paused. Should he include such details? The roads between camp and Rebhorn, as far as they knew, were relatively safe from enemy raiding parties. The last intelligence reports from New York and New Jersey indicated that Howe had moved his men into winter quarters north of Philadelphia, and therefore it was unlikely his letter would fall into the wrong hands. Still, even without the threat of interception, Laurens wondered about the wisdom of telling Hamilton outright how bad things looked to be over the cold season. Far from convincing the boy to stay put, it could just as potentially induce Ham to speed his return. He might well conclude that the best remedy to the army's shortages would be to take personal charge, to meet the problem head-on. And Laurens feared that would only cause Ham to relapse, or even to succumb altogether.

He decided that the best course would be to write two letters: one to Ham, not mentioning the conditions at Valley Forge, and another to Gibbs, explaining the deprivations and primitive living quarters. He could thereby instruct Gibbs not to allow Hamilton to set out for camp until he was quite ready. As he pulled out a fresh sheet to copy over the parts of his letter into separate pages, a uniformed officer entered the dim room. Laurens did not look up until the other crossed to his elbow.

"Are you planning to join us, Laurens?" Lafayette asked.

"I am, but I want to get these sent off with the morning dispatch," he said. "It's not as if there's anything to eat, anyway," he mumbled.

"Ah, I managed to find some cheese," Lafayette informed him. "It was a bit moldy, but we cut that away and inside was still good."

Laurens made a face. "If there's still any bread, I might have some of that," he suggested instead.

"Whatever are you working on so diligently?" Lafayette inquired.

"Ham's birthday is in three days," Laurens explained. "Did you not know?"

Lafayette smiled but shook his head. "Non," he answered with the slightest of French shrugs. "You know more about him than anyone, I think."

"Almost anyone," Laurens corrected. Lafayette laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"He will be all right, John."

"He almost wasn't," Laurens pointed out. "He might still falter again."

Rather than argue the point, which was too true to be worth debate, Lafayette sat at the table and carefully perched his boots upon an adjacent chair. "So. What do you say to our _petit lion_?"

"I have to recopy it," Laurens said, outlining quickly that he'd chosen to reserve the worst parts of his news for Captain Gibbs.

"Ah," Lafayette said, nodding. " _Alors_ , why not let me write the portion for Gibbs. That way, you might be finish before midnight, hein?"

"I'd settle for finishing before everyone else comes back to work," said Laurens with a smile. He handed over a page of foolscap. Lafayette accepted with his long, elegant fingers, and carried it to the nearest desk. There, he selected a pen and before long they were both scraping away. A few minutes later, they both looked up. "Complete?" Lafayette asked him.

"Almost," Laurens said. He read over his letter again. It was nearly identical, save for wrapping things up before going into his earlier details about the camp, but he knew he could not write to Hamilton and not include some report of the General--his health, his mood, or his agenda in particular. He added a brief reminder that the Great Man himself wished only to see Alexander back not a moment sooner than was safe for him to venture it, and signed with his affectionate devotion. Then he dusted the page, shaking it after allowing a moment for it to dry.

"Give it to me and I shall enclose it with mine," Lafayette suggested. Laurens folded the letter to hand it over. To his chagrin, Lafayette unfolded it immediately.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, making a grab to get it back. But Lafayette held it away with a playful hand against Laurens' chest. His heart beat a little more quickly as Lafayette scanned the page.

"Oh, but this is intolerable, John," the Marquis said in exaggerated pain. "You offer your affections but you include no word of my regard?"

Laurens laughed. "If that's all, write to him yourself! I'm sure he'd appreciate more than one letter from the two of us."

"Mmm," said the Frenchman. He finished reading while Laurens watched, arms crossed impatiently. "Maybe I will. _Bon_ ," he pronounced as he refolded it into the envelope of his own letter to Gibbs. "And now, let us see what they have left for us to eat."

~

Two weeks later, Ham was back among them, but still frail for Laurens' taste. He couldn't deny that Hamilton was lusty as ever--he had satisfied himself on that score within an hour of settling the boy in their attic room--but his endurance was hardly its prior level of vigor. Laurens did not mind doing the heavy lifting, so much as worry that Ham would be unable to fully recover the longer and harsher winter became.

He worried even more when Lafayette received his orders to march troops toward Albany, with the aim to make a campaign in the north against British forces descending from Quebec and upper Ontario. The young Frenchman had always had an influence over Alexander. True, his influence oscillated between steadying and michievous, but he had certainly kept Alexander out of trouble more often than he landed either of them in it. Without him, Valley Forge turned even more bleak and desolate--but not for long.

First to arrive was Lady Washington, and close behind her, a bevy of officers' wives and daughters. "You should get acquainted," Mrs. Washington recommended of the young men in the family. At first, Alexander showed little inclination. 

"You ought to mix more," Laurens told him.

"I know. At least one of them would make a fine wife--and they are all pleasant. I just…."

"Just what?" Laurens asked, his heart suddenly beating a little faster. He willed Alexander not to say what he feared. 

"I'm quite content, that's all," Alexander replied. "Well. With certain things."

"Dear boy, you are lying to yourself," Laurens insisted. "How often have you said you want a command? Marrying a general's daughter would help in no small way."

He looked slightly stung. "I want a command on my own terms, Jack. My own merit."

"And I want it for you. Truly, I do. But I also want you to make the full use of the advantages which present themselves to you. And…and I do not want you to throw away any potential opportunity for—for happiness. We should all be as happy in marriage as the Washingtons. Or Lafayette and his Adrienne.”

“No one could be as happy as Lafayette and his Adrienne, though it is remarkable, is it not, how Lady W affects His Excellency’s spirits.”

“That’s the whole idea behind wedded bliss, I hear,” Laurens observed. He held back any other statement, hoping his light irony would not invite more discourse on the topic of marriage. At least, not his own. He was prepared instead to push Alexander back to the path of conformity.

“It was recently pointed out to me that other than witty repartee and an attractive leg, I have little to offer a young lady of quality,” came Ham’s surprisingly bitter, self-deprecating reply.

Laurens had encountered Alexander’s morose moods before, but usually when he got depressed, Washington had something to do with it—or the war effort, in the abstract or the particular. This was the first time he recalled Hamilton lamenting ill treatment by a member of the fair sex. He must have been hurt acutely, if he spoke about it so easily.

“Who told you such a thing so rudely?” he asked. Even if he felt a twinge of jealousy, he could not abide the thought of anyone impugning his friend.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose it’s the sort of thing a gentleman should divulge.”

“That Kitty Howard?” Laurens guessed.

Ham snorted. “Are my affections so obvious?”

“No, but our quarters are not exactly private. And she does seem the type.” He took his feet off the fender to stir the fire and add another meagre log. “We ought to save the last of this for later,” he muttered. Burning their own fire was a luxury but the General had given them permission, for Hamilton’s health.

“I’m not cold,” Ham insisted, though his shiver belied it.

“Well. What would cheer you, then?” Laurens asked. “I could go challenge Miss Howard to a duel.”

Hamilton chuckled, but the mirth converted to a hollow cough. “You need not bother,” he said when he could speak again.

“We’re out of Gilbert’s brandy, I’m afraid. Should I see what I can scare up from the collective liquor cabinet?”

Hamilton reached his hand out to rest on Laurens’ sleeve. “I’ll be fine, Jack, if you’re willing to stay with me.”

“Of course.”

"All night?"

"All night." After that, neither of them needed to talk.

~

Laurens fell asleep thinking he would let Hamilton lie in the next morning, but when he awoke, he was alone. As he made his way carefully down the stairs, mindful of the low ceiling and the one step that was unevenly spaced, he could hear laughter in the main room. It was not the giggles of ladies, but the full-throated laughter of men. He crossed the narrow hallway, tugging nervously on his coat to smooth it, and rounded the corner into the room.

“Laurens!” came the greeting cry of the whole company. But it was Harrison who continued: “Sit, sit—there’s a bit of bread still; we saved it for you. And you must hear this report from Boston.”

“What’s happened in Boston?” he asked as he found an empty chair between Meade and Tilghman. Ham was nowhere to be seen, nor was the General. That likely meant they were sequestered together in His Excellency’s office. If so, it explained the boy’s early start on the day.

“Boston has been playing host to a colorful fellow named Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben,” Tilghman explained. “He’s gone to the Congress to sign on with a couple of his aides.”

“As what?” Laurens asked, dreading the response.

“That’s what they’re deciding,” said Tilghman, with a nod toward the closed door of Washington’s office.

“Has he any credentials? Is he a Lafayette, or a Stephen?”

There was a ripple of amusement around the table. “Somewhere in between, I think,” Harrison said with a quirky half-smile. He waved his hand toward Meade. “Let Laurens read the account and let us hear his assessment.”

Meade surrendered several pages and Laurens began to read. He learned that the newcomer styled himself with the Germanic title of Freihoff, that he traveled with a retinue of aides and a greyhound, and that he had fashioned red uniforms which nearly got him and his men killed when they disembarked at Boston. He learned that von Steuben claimed to have served Frederick the Great and the Prussian army in the Seven Years’ War, but that following some dustup or other, he had eventually gone to Paris, where he had met Dr. Franklin, discussed the war with Britain, and had set out for America. There followed some anecdotes about his time in Boston and how he had enchanted the members of society there.

“This says he bears introductions from Dr. Franklin and the Count St. Germain,” Laurens said.

“Ham has them in there,” Tilghman confirmed. “He was a Lt. General, Franklin says.”

“What does he expect to do here?”

“If Congress accepts him as a volunteer, they’ll probably make him a general like the Marquis,” said William Smith.

“Then let’s hope he is every inch as valuable as the Marquis,” Laurens said.

“Huzzah for that!” they all replied.

“But one expects, based on the stories already cropping up, that this Steuben chap will be at least as amusing as our dear Lafayette,” observed Gibbs. Something about the way he looked at Laurens when he said it made Laurens repress a shudder. Gibbs was the least judgmental comrade one could imagine, but he had never before given any indication that he suspected anything about the intimacy of Lafayette’s relationship with Laurens, and with Hamilton. Sympathetic or merely teasing, Laurens could not afford for any of them to be found out. But rather than risk seeming too incurious, Laurens asked, “What makes you say so?” and was, thankfully, repealed with the tales that had thus far preceded the Teutonic arrival.

At last, the door to Washington’s office opened and the men inside spilled outward. Hamilton drifted toward Laurens but took care not to stand too close. Someone procured a few extra stools and benches and the servants brought out biscuit and gravy for their morning meal. Mrs. Washington arrived also, and the party was the merrier, though the fare no finer.

~

They read the account of von Steuben’s arrival in Boston again that evening at supper, for the benefit of the ladies.

“He sounds altogether dashing,” said Lady W. “George, dear, I’m sorry to have missed your excellent Lafayette, but perhaps the Baron will make a reasonable substitute for the Marquis.” She winked at the assemblage with a cat-like grin.

“Never!” General Washington insisted. “No one could rival that dear boy in any of our affections, I daresay.” He raised his glass. “To the Marquis, gentlemen, and the success of his labors in the north.”

“The Marquis!” Laurens echoed with them. He glanced to his right: Ham toasted along with them, but his voice was quiet and his manner subdued.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Alex,” Laurens whispered as he accepted his meagre portion of meat.

“So am I,” Hamilton replied.

“Well, then—”

“Nothing. Not here,” said his companion, forcing a smile. He then amused Mrs. W. with a tale of the Marquis, a fox, and a chicken that disrupted a foraging hunt, which grew in Ham’s telling every time. By its end, the whole company roared with laughter.

“But it’s all true, madame,” Ham assured her. How he kept from cracking his sober expression, Laurens did not know. “Gilbert returned the next morning to compensate the poor man for his chickens, of course, and nearly had his queue chopped off for his trouble.”

“Did the fellow think him a rooster?” she prompted.

“He thought him some sort of cock, ma’m—though perhaps peacock is more apt.”

Here the General’s cheeks grew flushed, but to Laurens’ relief, Lady W. herself chuckled heartily. She favored Hamilton with a mischievous smirk. “George, you should tell the lads about that fox problem _we_ had six years ago….”

By the end of supper, more dispatches had arrived. Hamilton offered to read them, but Laurens could see his frame shaking with the effort to remain upright. “Go to bed,” he told the other. “You’ve worn yourself out entertaining Mrs. Washington.”

“More like distracting myself,” Hamilton said enigmatically.

“Rubbish. You were charming her silly. Go on. I’ll look over this lot and bring you anything urgent.”

To his surprise, Hamilton didn’t argue with him. He just nodded, gripped Laurens’ arm briefly in gratitude, and climbed the stairs. Laurens waited until he heard the especially creaky step near the top before he turned back to the fire.

When he came upstairs, Hamilton lay in bed with his face to the wall. He slept fitfully, but he slept. Careful not to wake him, Laurens stirred the coals for a little more light. He undressed in silence. Then he lifted the blankets and eased himself in beside Hamilton.

Instantly, Hamilton's slumber grew calmer. He sighed in his sleep and shifted toward the wall at Laurens nudging. As Laurens settled himself, Hamilton wrapped one arm about him, and Laurens nuzzled under Hamilton's chin, breathing in the scent of him. To be close like this, to lie in the comforting arms of one's friend, Laurens thought, was more restful than a holiday. To think he had almost rejected such a gift.

His musing drifted into a lazy type of doze, when Hamilton moved again, and grunted bemusedly. "Shh," Laurens said, and squeezed him a little tighter. "It's only me. Go back to sleep, my dear."

Hamilton grunted again. "Wasn't….sleep." 

"Sleep now, then," Laurens countered. "Rest."

"No, I….important….General Putnam…."

"You're losing every other word, dear boy," Laurens whispered. "God help me if, in the morning, you're cross because you think you've told me something you could not articulate. Shh. Sleep." Laurens laid down his head, closed his eyes once more, and took his own advice.

~

In the morning, however, Hamilton was far from cross. He awoke Laurens by means of lazy kisses dropped upon his eyes, nose, throat, moving lower, while the coverlet drew downward. As the cold air hit his chest through his nightshirt, Laurens' nipples stood erect, and then other parts followed suit. His eyes rolled backward when the cold of the room was replaced by the warmth of Hamilton's mouth.

"Good morning," Laurens said, once he could speak.

"Mmm," came his lover's reply. Hamilton rose from the bed, mouth full, and spit into the chamberpot. "Best get started. Long day ahead," he explained, sounding more like their esteemed leader than Laurens wished to think, or indeed he suspected, Hamilton wished to know. Perhaps he was cross, after all.

"Alex, is there anything you desire?" Laurens ventured. He sat up, patting the mattress. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly," said Hamilton, in short tones that implied anything but. Laurens thought better than to press, however. He sat at the edge of the bed to stretch. Then, when Hamilton had moved out of the way in the tight garret, he reached for his breeches and stockings.

"Damn cold," Hamilton muttered. It seemed this was the only explanation he planned to offer for his grumpiness.

"I've an extra pair of woolen socks, if you--"

"No, it'll be fine," Hamilton sighed. A moment later, "Thank you, though, for the offer."

"My dear boy, I hope you know by now that whatever I have is entirely yours," Laurens said carefully. He caught Hamilton's hand. "Will you not tell me what's troubling you? You're acting strangely and I don't wish the lads--or the General--to bear any brunt of your temper."

Hamilton opened his mouth to deny it all, but just as quickly as he had flared, he deflated. "We haven't time for petty squabbles or fragile egos," he said instead.

"Mine? Whose?"

"Mine," he answered. He sank onto the second, unused bed. "I imagine you know just how I feel, my dear. You desire command as much as I--indeed, no one deserves it more. But Congress will continue offering commissions to these foreign implants--"

"With expertise in warfare, which we sorely need--"

"Yes, yes, we _need_ them," Hamilton agreed testily. "I would to God we did not need them quite so deperately. I would to God Congress would wait for a proper assessment, as well. But the reality is that we need experienced commanders and we have little method to reliably judge, and that's an end to it. Meanwhile, men like you waste away here when you could be leading men, an ally among our military squadrons, and I--" he bit down on his lips as if to choke back a growl-- "I am still little more than a clerk."

"Ham, you are more than--"

"I direct the movement of supplies--not shipments, but it's still all clerking at its heart. Correspondence, troop deployment--it's jut a different form of bookkeeping."

"Alex--"

"Jack. You know it's true. And while for others, this post may represent a glorious opportunity, for me…for me it is stifling. I hadn't realized just how confining until I returned after Albany."

"Albany nearly killed you--"

"Don't be dramatic, Jack. Albany had nothing to do with it. _Fever_ nearly killed me. I could have caught that anywhere." He smiled weakly. "The other lads--even you, my dear--you have illustrious days ahead when the war's over. For me…. If I cannot accrue rank or station on my own merits, then I will be just as poor at the end of this conflict as I was at its outset. Perhaps even worse off."

Laurens held his tongue. All the blandishments he wanted to offer would, he knew, meet only Hamilton's scorn. He could not say, for example, that Washington would surely reward Hamilton's service and loyalty with an exalted position--for he could not guarantee that to be so. He could not say that Hamilton's own actions already gained him authority and acclaim, which others would surely take for recommendation--for Hamilton had also made enemies as a result of his forthright execution of duty. He could not, under any circumstances, promise to take care of him afterward--for he had virtually no wealth of his own, save what his father chose to allow, first; second, his family would claim his attention and responsibility at the war's end; and third, most importantly, he knew Hamilton's pride would reject any hint of charity. So he said nothing. But he did not want Hamilton to mistake his silence for agreement. He took one step--all that was needed to close the distance between them--and kissed Hamilton's cheek.

"The war's not over yet," he observed. "There's plenty of time, I fear, and no shortage of opportunities for us still to prove our valor."

"Not that it will make much difference," growled Hamilton, but the corners of his mouth twisted upward. It was more grimace than grin, but Laurens took it to mean he had improved Hamilton's humor. "We're late," he added. "We ought to go down."

"In a moment," said Laurens. He rested his hands on the buttons of Hamilton's breech front. "I've another kind of 'down' in mind." 

~

A few days later, they got their first exposure to the Baron von Steuben in the flesh. He arrived with his aides, his dogs, and a colorful assortment of hired coterie: musicians, servants, and even a personal tailor.

"It's like something out of a folk tale," man mused. "Only instead of piping away the children, he's piping all this in to us."

Laurens cast a sidelong glance at the General. His Excellency sat on his beloved Blueskin, stonefaced and utterly rigid. His straight back and steady eye gave no hint of either pleasure or disapproval. Only the way in which he seemed to grow yet another three inches in the saddle betrayed, to those who knew him, a discomfort with the parade of men streaming into the camp.

To everyone's relief, the Baron saluted smartly upon arrival, and one of his aides silenced the band. As von Steuben barked out his greeting (in German), the aide dismounted to release their musical accompanists, and they filed away quietly to the rest of the army's cheers.

"Colonel Laurens, if you please," Harrison beckoned. Laurens nudged his horse closer. "Translate for the General," Harrison instructed through gritted teeth.

"Oh! Your pardon, Your Excellency. Er…Baron von Steuben presents himself with his respects and begs you will accept his papers from Congress." A very young man beside the Baron, not in uniform, held out a leather wallet into which the Baron's commission had been inserted. Harrison accepted it.

"All appears in order, Your Excellency," the elder aide reported.

"Mister Laurens, kindly inform General von Steuben we are pleased to welcome him," General Washington said, though still no hint of a smile approached his face.

Laurens repeated the welcome. Von Steuben saluted again and said rapidly that he wished, with the General's permission, to see his men settled and then would attend His Excellency at Headquarters?

"By all means, let us convene back inside," said Washington when Laurens had translated. "Tell him I will expect him in an hour. Stay with them, if you please, and make sure they have everything they need. Hamilton, Meade, with me. Colonel Harrison, you may dismiss the men."

Prior to the company's arrival, they had learned that the Baron spoke German and French, but only a smattering of English. They had also learned that the civilian who traveled with him acted as a sort of personal aide/valet, though the rumor ran that he was more of a companion than butler.

"Does the fellow go everywhere with him?" Washington had grumbled. "What are _his_ credentials, one wonders."

"He is German, dear," observed Mrs. W., in an exhibition of her own surprisingly cosmopolitan sensibilities. "They have different standards, surely. You wouldn't take kindly to leaving Billy Lee behind, would you?"

"Well, that's…."

"So, if this, Pierre du Ponceau fellow is as much a servant and secretary for the Baron, why should he be expected to forgo him?"

No one pointed out that the "services" du Ponceau was rumored to provide did not necessarily run parallel to Mr. Lee's. Laurens took that as a sign of sorts, but Hamilton had been less charitable.

"When one is infamous, one can afford to be thought of as eccentric," he had said later. "Besides, it's probably just a rumor. Boston's puritanical desire for scandal, that's all."

Now that Laurens saw the two with his own eyes, he had to disagree. Du Ponceau was frighfully young--younger even than Lafayette--and the Baron seemed as obvious as Francis' friend Yves-Renauld had been at school. Only politeness kept any sort of fiction in place. He wondered how von Steuben had ever gained Congress' endorsement. He must indeed have skills which they desperately needed, enough to overlook his eccentricity.

Watching them occupy their meagre quarters, Laurens felt compelled to say something. He found a way to pull du Ponceau aside and told him, in French, "You will have to be careful, here."

The aide smiled benignly, but the expression seemed fixed. "Careful? About what?"

"I think you know," Laurens answered, unwilling to call the problem by name and gain only the expected denial. "His Excellency is not a fool. He will tolerate some--flamboyance--but he is at heart a very traditional gentleman. He is not given to fancy and frippery."

"Ah, I see what you mean, then," Pierre nodded, his youthful eyes conveying more than superficial understanding. "We are too...conspicuous, with the music and such, no? He is a religious man, then?"

"A Christian, to be sure, but no. He's no Boston Puritan. It's only that he is a very proper man."

"Ah," said Pierre, and now his mirth faded. "That is not unexpected. But I will see that Wilhelm is mindful of our surroundings. Thank you...Laurence?"

"Laurens," he corrected, hardening the "s". "John."

"Jean," the other repeated. It reminded Laurens again of Lafayette. A pang of longing struck him suddenly. He missed the Marquis--and not only that, he was sure Gilbert could have handled this delicate matter much more diplomatically. But at least he had made something of an ally, and learned something important about their new additions. The descriptions from Boston had said the Baron was "colorful"; well, it certainly appeared an understatement, so far.

Despite any flirtation with impropriety in his personal demeanor and the character of his retinue, Laurens quickly discovered that the Baron was all business on the field. The day after his arrival, he toured the camp with Laurens and Hamilton, both as translators and record keepers for his recommendations. Von Steuben was uncompromising in his assessment.

"This is madness,' he muttered to them upon encountering a half-finished shelter. "It will be a miracle if these men survive the winter. Have they no shoes? No blankets?"

"We distribute everything we can find," said Hamilton, his French both formal and yet somehow indicating his comfort and fluency.

"Bah," was von Steuben's only response. "What of their formations? Can they arrange themselves in firing lines? Have they any concept of covering fire? Do they close ranks? What of their discipline under fire? Do they scatter?"

The longer they spoke together, the better Hamilton and von Steuben seemed to get on. Laurens found the Baron's extensive tactical knowledge both encouraging and sobering, as the man had effortlessly pinpointed in a day nearly everything it had taken the colonials three years to identify. Beyond that, the Baron clearly enjoyed both aides' company, and Hamilton clearly had found a kindred spirit in terms of brilliance, quick wit, and the serious application of both to solving their myriad problems. Seemingly gone were any objections that this foreign interloper had usurped the hierarchy of command. Instead, Hamilton seemed more than impressed with von Steuben's easy grasp of the challenge ahead of them.

"Would it keep you from your duties to Herr Washington if you both dined with me tonight?" von Steuben asked at the end of the day. "I see we have much to do and I prefer to waste no time."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Hamilton said without hesitation. "His Excellency has tasked us with the general improvement of the forces, so anything we can do to get started will be met with his approval."

Laurens didn't quite share Hamilton's confidence on that, but he had no desire to call him into question in fron of von Steuben.

" _Wunderbar!_ " the Baron exclaimed. "It will save us the precious time, _ja_?" He invited Hamilton to lead the way--and as the aide passed in front, von Steuben rested his hand on Ham's shoulder.

There was nothing inappropriate about von Steuben's contact. And yet, Laurens felt a surge of jealousy and even revulsion at the sight. To make matters worse, Ham looked back over his shoulder at the Baron--and _smiled_.

That smile sickened Laurens. In Geneva, they had known a man--an older gentleman who frequented one of the coffee houses. He, too, had dazzled a young, impressionable acquaintance of his and Francis' circle. In a matter of months, their friend was caught in a most compromising position, disgraced, and shunned from all society. Laurens had never spoken of it to anyone lest word reach his father, but he had taken the lesson from it all too seriously. This so-called Baron now called that sorry chapter back to mind. After all, von Steuben had danced in on Franklin's recommendation, when everyone knew Franklin himself was the most debauched, self-indulgent Colonial libertine in Europe. And now he thought to--to corrupt Hamilton? To turn him into a patsy? No. It could not be borne.

Dinner was an exercise in torture. At every turn, Hamilton behaved toward the general as a fawning maid. He practically _simpered_. Baron von Steuben had only to direct a phrase toward Hamilton and the latter would bask in the glow of it. They had conversed mostly in French, which, while not von Steuben's preferred tongue, at least negated the need for anyone to translate. Only occasionally would the general drift into German, which meant Laurens had to pay attention just enough to enter the discussion when necessary. Hamilton made a great show of courting the Baron's opinions on all manner of topics, from biology to the proper acquisition of one's cravats, until Laurens believed he might vomit. Hamilton _never_ behaved so solicitously, even when Washington himself had made friendly gestures! Could he actually be attracted to the man?

Across the table, Pierre du Ponceau caught Laurens' eye. Despite his best effort to remain outwardly pleasant, something of his torment must have shown to the other man. Pierre smiled in a sort of comiseration. "Do you smoke, Monsieur?" he asked quietly.

"No," Laurens said before he realized what the lad was really asking.

Du Ponceau sighed. It was obvious he thought Laurens the worst sort of blundering bumpkin, despite his additional years. "Unfortunately, it is a vice I find impossible to forgo. But I prefer to partake in the company of others. Would you care to step out for some air while I indulge?"

It was as clear an invitation as could be managed without rudeness to the party. Laurens excused himself (not that Ham or the Baron even noticed!) and followed the young man into the cold night.

"My friend," Pierre said in French, striking a match to his pipe, "you ought to follow your own advice, hein? You say to me circumspection, but then you regard Wlhelm with such vivid feeling I could taste it."

"I assure you--"

"Oh, deny it, but his affection toward your friend makes you jealous, does it not?"

"No," Laurens said flatly.

The aide frowned and puffed on his pipe. He lit the tobacco again. "Then, perhaps, it is the handsome Hamilton who makes you jealous. Is that it? You have already bestowed your heart to him?"

"Sir, you are newly come to this camp," Laurens bit out, clamping down on his temper, "so I will refrain from taking the offense such an outrageous comment deserves. Colonel Hamilton is a fine soldier and a close friend. He is also, if one may say it, a bit prone to the romantic--war's glory, valor and bravery, and such--and he can be impressionable if the circumstances are right. I asked, earlier, for discretion; now, I demand it on Hamilton's behalf. I would not want the Baron to form any ill-conceived ideas where the fellow is concerned. Or where I am concerned. And I certainly would not wish this partnership to end in calamity for anyone, especially for the Colonel."

"Ah, of course," du Ponceau commented. It seemed on the surface as if he believed Laurens, but then Laurens' statement also had been more forceful than he'd intended. Infuriatingly, he worried that Pierre took his vehemence for confirmation of the very thing he hoped to categorically refute. 

But Pierre's next sentence, when it came, was wistful. "Wilhelm does have a way of adopting young men in need of advancement, like me," he said. "And many are fascinated when they first meet him. Pray, Monsieur Laurens, do not fear for your friend. If it is such an infatuation, it will not last long."

It was difficult to keep his peevishness from spilling onto Hamilton as they walked back to their cramped quarters. When Hamilton's foot caught on an uneven paving stone, he stumbled and lurched into Laurens. "Are you drunk?" he grumbled, "or have you overtaxed yourself?"

"Neither," Hamilton insisted. He slumped further against Laurens' shoulder.

"Both, I think," Laurens reprimanded. But he reflexively offered his arm for support. Now was not the time to take Hamilton to task, but he promised himself they would speak about his sudden change of feeling toward their newest commander.

 

~

 

Back in von Steuben's chamber, a different conversation took place. 

"Stay tonight," said the Baron, as Pierre helped him remove his boots. They conversed, as they always did alone, in German.

"Willy," Pierre cautioned.

"Oh, come on, it's bitter cold. It will be warmer with two here."

"Willy, we just arrived here. You don't want to be drummed out before we get started."

"Bah, they won't even notice. Besides, they need us more than we need them."

"I'm not so sure. This is virtually the only army that would have you, my dear. So, behave yourself." He hung up the Baron's coat on a wooden rack. "Which goes for Hamilton, too."

Von Steuben's eyebrows lifted. He pursed his lips a moment, watching Pierre, before answering. "Could my Pierre-Étienne be jealous?" he teased.

"That has nothing to do with it. I'm looking out for you."

"And for yourself?"

"I'm not jealous," Pierre sighed. He came close to stand over von Steuben, hands on his shoulders. "I know you couldn't do without me."

"Very true," said von Steuben, smiling up at him. It was clear he expected a kiss, so Pierre gave him one.

"But that doesn't mean you don't stray from time to time," Pierre told him, and lowered himself onto the other's lap. "And that other one, Laurens, he's already warned me twice that we need to be discreet around here."

"Oh? Well, he's the one whose father is in Congress."

"He's also the one who was educated in Geneva. I think he's more familiar with our kind than many others around here."

"Is he one of us, then?"

Pierre thought a moment before responding. He felt von Steuben's hand slip under his jacket. "I'm not sure. I thought perhaps, at first, but the way he came to Hamilton's defense…. I think either he has acquaintances he wishes to protect, or he is, in fact, quite disgusted but does not wish to harm the war effort by making waves. So no extracurriculars, Willy."

"Can I help it if you boys find me fascinating?"

"And you don't object to a young piece of ass, either," Pierre grumbled.

"Aw..my little goat _is_ jealous," von Steuben teased. "Hamilton does have a brilliant--mind, I will admit it. I merely wish to aid his development. It's clear Washington does not know how to nurture him--"

"And you do?" Pierre stood up in frustration. "Willy…."

"All right, all right. Don't worry so much. My mind and body may crave new tastes, but my heart? _Mon cœur est à toi, pour toujours_."

Pierre rolled his eyes. "Your mind can sample all it likes, but your body had best stick to its regular diet."

"Then stay! You tell me not to stray and then you abandon me. What am I to do?"

"Whatever it takes to be safe," Pierre said simply. He untied von Steuben's cravat, loosened his shirt, and kissed the top of his chest where it poked through the neck hole. Then he dropped to his knees to unbutton the breeches enclosed around von Steuben's ample belly. With another caress, he eased the Baron backward and expertly whisked the breeches free. He unbuttoned the cuffs to pull off the garment while von Steuben laid back against the pillow. Pierre sat on the edge of the bed, tucking in the much older man as if he were a child. Over the other's protest of dismay, he kissed him on the forehead and straightened up. "Now, go to sleep, old man. You've got a long day tomorrow."

 

~

 

A few days of relentless practice drills ensued. Luckily, the weather, while cold, was sunny, for the few hours of daylight available to them. Laurens and Hamilton took turns - one translating, the other attending General Washington. Du Ponceau was ever-present, soaking up the language like a sponge. In the evenings, when Hamilton had spent time advising the General, directing his correspondence, and organizing the work that should have been done by commanders senior to his own position, instead he found excuses to dine with von Steuben. 

"I don't know why you insist on avoiding him," Hamilton said to Laurens on the third night in a row.

"And I don't know what you see in the man," Laurens replied peevishly. 

Hamilton blinked. "Are you joking? He's brilliant. All right, I had my doubts, but let's admit it, he knows more about organizing an army than any officer we've had. Except perhaps Generals Greene, or Knox. But then again, His Excellency never listens to them when it counts. I think he might actually heed General von Steuben's advice. So he's a worse fop than du Broyens, but Jack, his plans for training--"

"He's...a bad influence," Laurens said. "He'll--corrupt you." Even as he said it, he heard his father's voice--both in his head and in his ears. It was enough to make him light-headed.

"I really doubt that he will," Hamilton assured him. "Besides, there's no time for any of that. We've begun working on a manual; it's going to make all the difference, Jack."

"And what about His Excellency?"

"He'll be fine. He asked us to look after the Baron, didn't he? Let some of the other boys pick up the slack for a while."

"They picked up the slack the whole time you were gone. He needs _you_."

Hamilton only scoffed. "Oh, he needs me, all right. Needs me chained to a fucking desk."

"Ham. Not this again, it's tiresome. You have to know how vital the work we do is. It's stifling at times, sure, but you yourself told me when I first arrived--there's drudgery. It's winter. Once we're out on campaign again, you'll feel less confined. But don't give up on our cause."

"I'm not giving up anything, John," Hamilton shot back. "This work--the work with Wilhelm--that's what's going to elevate our cause--"

"General von Steuben," Laurens corrected.

"Er, yes?" Hamilton said, with the air of one who is not sure why he was being questioned.

"You said Wilhelm."

That finally earned a frown and Ham's silence.

Laurens continued quickly. "You see why I'm concerned? He's becoming overly familiar with you. Are you're letting him, because you're--star-struck? Ham, his type can be found in every coffee house and bookshop in Europe. They prey on--"

"Prey?"

"On impressionable young men such as--as ourselves. Tell me you can see that his interest in you extends beyond strategy. You don't still believe that he and du Ponceau aren't--" he lowered his voice-- "lovers?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Hamilton exclaimed. "Laurens. Du Ponceau's one-third his age. He thinks of Wilhelm as a father. And anyway. Do you think I'm _attracted_ to him?"

"Aren't you?" Laurens replied angrily.

"No! No, I--Jack," he stepped forward to place his hands on Laurens' shoulders. "Jack. Don't be ridiculous."

"So, he hasn't made any sort of overture?"

"I didn't say that," Hamilton said coyly. "But I've no intention of entertaining them if he did." He smiled boyishly. "Why would I, when I have my inestimable Laurens?"

 

~

 

Yet as the weeks went on, Laurens fretted. No matter what he told him, Hamilton was clearly blooming under von Steuben's patronage. And von Steuben kept inventing ways to flirt and captivate and occupy Hamilton's attention. Barely a day went by without the two of them putting their heads close together, or von Steuben seized an opportunity to lay a paternal hand on Hamilton's shoulder, or--Laurens fumed at it--they exchanged a conspiratorial smile and an even more collegial embrace. Even on occasions such as the performance of _Cato_ that the men put on, or the night they celebrated His Excellency's birthday, Hamilton came near to fawning on his new patron, and the elder man, Laurens thought, looked upon him with a more than fondness. 

The worst, by far, was the party von Steuben announced toward the end of February. "My friends," he told them, for one undeniable aspect of his time with Hamilton was that his English had vastly improved, "I ask you. Look upon the state of our troops! Look at their clothes. They're all gone to rags. Shall we leave them tattered like this?" He shook his head. "It is the mark of a good officer to join his men in their privation."

"My dear Baron, are you suggesting we shed our uniforms?" Meade asked incredulously.

"Ah, but I do!" he simpered. "I beg you all to join me one week from Saturday--let us combine our rations, and...and… _Wir werden dem Wetter trotzen_ ," he finished in German.

"We mean to flute this despicable weather," Pierre jumped in to translate. 

"Flout," both Laurens and Hamilton corrected quickly. Hamilton smiled at Laurens. Instantly, Laurens forgot to be annoyed at von Steuben. But just as soon as he felt relief at Hamilton's favor, he soured at von Steuben's next statement.

"There is one small price for entry I demand of you all," the man said. "Our men's trousers are in shreds, ja? So, we must join them in their _déshabillage_. As an act of… _Vereinigung_."

"Solidarity?" du Ponceau offered.

"Ach, ja!" von Steuben exclaimed. "Solidarity. _Niemand darf eintreten, dessen Uniform ganz ist._." As if realizing he had slipped back into German, he repeated himself, in French: " _Personne ne doit entrer dont l'uniforme est entier_."

There was silence. Hamilton was the first to find his voice. "You're...joking, surely, sir?" he said. 

"Not at all," von Steuben countered. "I wish us to demonstrate that we, too, endure hardship. All of us are friends, are we not?"

There was a murmur of agreement.

"Then I say: none shall be admitted in trousers. We shall show them we are not ashamed nor are we...affected by the wind and the cold and all such. Ja?"

An uncomfortable silence met his remark. Laurens scanned the room quickly. It seemed he was not the only one worried about the less wholesome implications of the Baron's statement.

"Will His Excellency be invited?" Tilghman asked. To the man's credit, he maintained a perfectly serious composure as he inquired.

Now it was von Steuben's turn to blush. "Ach, well….I would not wish His Excellency to take offense," he said carefully. "Nor for the requirements of admission to compromise his dignity in any way."

Several of the lads smirked, but Tilghman remained completely serious. "In other words, what His Excellency doesn't know won't hurt him," he surmised.

"Or us," Hamilton snorted, which finally dissolved Tilghman into laughter as well.

"All right, then," said Meade, "as long as we don't have to ruin good breeches. I've only two decent pair myself."

The dam thus broken, the whole company expressed their willingness to participate. Laurens sought out Hamilton's gaze. He attempted to signal his friend against committing to the party, but to his dismay, Hamilton merely winked at him convivially, and continued to chat pleasantly with the others. 

"You know what he's trying to do," Laurens said later, in their room.

"Lift our spirits?" Hamilton replied, with deliberate innocence.

"He's trying to gratify himself," Laurens insisted. "I heard him, as we were leaving."

"We all heard him. He was teasing everyone," Hamilton laughed. "Laurens, don't worry."

"I'm not--worried," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm…."

"Jealous?" Hamilton said, with an air of banter himself. "I keep telling you. Let him have his fantasies. It doesn't harm anything."

"It could harm you. It could harm us all. If His Excellency--"

"Jack." Hamilton put his hands on Laurens' shoulders, all trace of humor gone. "If His Excellency wished to entertain accusatons of Wilhelm's unfitness, he could have done so a month ago. He won't. Not unless he's absolutely forced to. And...forgive me saying it, but your carrying on is more likely to cause problems. Relax. We all know he's a dirty old man. Just let him be and no one has to make a fuss about it."

"I _heard_ what he said to you, Ham. He said he couldn't wait to see your legs uncovered in this cold! How does that not make you ill at ease?"

Hamilton shook his head and shrugged. "Because...it's just his way."

"Well, it's not my way."

"No, my dear," Hamilton sighed. "I know it's not."

"And...you seem to like it."

Here, Hamilton barked with laughter. "I tolerate it. Not the same thing."

"That makes it worse," Laurens muttered. "It's courting trouble, I'm telling you."

Hamilton brushed his fear aside. "It'll be fine." He placed a hand on Laurens' shoulder, which provoked an involuntary shudder that he tried to suppress. "Don't be cross about it, though, please?"

Laurens smiled sadly. "I'm not cross with you, dear boy," he said. He caught Hamilton's hand in his own and pressed it to his lips. "I don't think I ever could be." 

 

~

 

The evening of the party arrived, as did a heavy snow. "I hope the General has enough firewood to get us through the night," Meade observed, "or we might freeze before morning."

"We might freeze before we can cross the camp," Tilghman quipped.

"It'll be warm enough when we all get there," Gibbs said, "and if you keep your cloaks wrapped tight, it's a short enough walk."

"Everyone clear on the plan?" Hamilton asked. 

"Two at a time; Fitzie's staying to attend His Excellency; Harrison has no idea," Meade recited. "Who's first?"

"We are," said Laurens, appearing on the step. 

"I thought you were going to stay in and write to your father?" Hamilton said in surprise.

"Thought better of it," he answered. "You need supervision." He used his best "big brother" voice, the one he usually reserved for Hal. 

It had the desired effect. Hamilton's eyes narrowed, then he spurted out a short laugh. Clapping both hands on Laurens' shoulders and squeezing them briefly, he said, "Let's go, then."

They clutched their cloaks closed, in case anyone saw as they walked quickly across the narrow corridor to the entrance. Outside, the snow blew around in great clouds. Individual flakes of snow found their way through any gap between the folds of cloth. Laurens had no idea what others had chosen, but for himself, his modesty dictated his selection. He had dug out his oldest pair of breeches from his trunk and ripped them where they were worn thinnest. He tore off the cuffs, as well, leaving a ragged edge. The result was a shredded, short, but still somewhat structural, pantaloon. He could only imagine how Berry would lament when he saw the damage. Perhaps he'd make up a story about their ruination. That at least would have the advantage of ensuring his father would not discover what he'd done. As for the ravaged pants themselves, they had the advantage that when they hit the cold air, there was at least some modicum of layer to protect his lower half. But not enough of one. As they dashed along the makeshift tracks, growing more and more indistinct because of the falling snow, his knees and thighs felt cold, then burned. Although the walk was not terribly long, his legs were numb and shaking by the time they reached von Steuben's shelter. 

They entered the small house, where du Ponceau and two of von Steuben's regiment were standing guard. Someone had hung a blanket over the frame of the door leading to the chamber, creating a makeshift foyer, protected from view (and the cold) as the outer door opened and closed. The little anteroom was already crammed with cloaks and even boots. They could hear chatter and music through the barrier.

" _Bienvenue, messieurs,_ " Pierre said. "Let us take your cloaks and we shall see what you have brought us."

Laurens complied, but had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. His fears were about to be confirmed; von Steuben planned nothing less than a debauch. Hamilton removed his cloak as well, revealing nothing but his drawers, the tails of his shirt hanging loose from his waistcoat and coat. 

"Darling Alexander! Don't you look good enough to eat?" Pierre gushed in French. "Wilhelm will be so pleased you've taken his concept to heart." He then glanced at Laurens' lower half. "Hm," he pronounced in a gruff expulsion of disdain. "Well, no doubt you represent the other half of the Baron's statement: that we should suffer the same as our men, clothes all in tatters."

"They're not presentable in polite society," Laurens said slowly. "Isn't that the requirement?"

"Indeed, indeed it is," Pierre assured him, much more pleasantly. "Gentlemen, please, do go in." He lifted the makeshift curtain and a wave of warm air circled Laurens' knees. They had begun to thaw since coming out of the wind and were already aching; now they burned with the intensity of the heat.

Unsure of what awaited them, Laurens took a tentative step forward, but Hamilton pushed past him with no shame whatsoever. His entry was met with a triumphant cheer. Across the room, von Steuben turned to greet the newcomer and beamed at his guests.

"Hammie!" he exclaimed. "Mon cher, quel délice! Ravissant, mon petit, absolument ravissant. " He rushed forward to kiss Hamilton on both cheeks, only then spying Laurens. "But Colonel Laurens is shy, I see," he continued. "Come in, come in, my dear sir, we do not...do not chew."

"Bite," Hamilton corrected. " _On dit mordre_ , to bite." He demonstrated with one sharp clack of his teeth.

"Ah, _bien sûr, bien sûr,_ of course this is the phrase." Von Steuben sipped his glass of wine. "But where are our manners? Come in and warm yourselves. DeClerc has managed to cobble together a credible punch, or if you prefer, there are still some toddies."

"Punch," said Hamilton, just as Laurens said that he would gladly take a hot toddy. As they moved inward, a gust of cold air hit the backs of his knees. The curtain had lifted again, this time to admit Meade, Gibbs, and Tilghman all together. Meade had fashioned a sort of wrap out of a horse blanket; Gibbs was in his drawers and shirt like Hamilton; and Tilghman….

"Tench, are you...in only your nightshirt?" Laurens whispered to the other when he joined him in accepting a hot drink.

"Yes, and it's colder than a witch's tit out there!" Tilghman answered. Shivering, he hustled over to the fire with his warm tankard. "Well, come on, lads, best keep toasty--one way or another!"

With surprising speed, they all got quite comfortable. Von Steuben must have scrounged every available candle, which was still a pitiful number, but in the tiny cabin, they threw an impressive amount of heat. With his knees exposed, Laurens felt their glow quite directly. The collective radiation of thirty or forty men in the cramped space helped compensate for the drafts of wind that occasionally ripped through the walls, as well. The Baron had hired a trio of musicians, and several other guests had brought instruments. Soon, they were singing along to many a tune. Hamilton, delighted, hung near to the cluster of performers.

"He lights up, doesn't he, when there's music," said Tench, appearing at Laurens' elbow. He wrapped his arms around Laurens' shoulders. "It's hard to imagine Hammie being even more magnetic, but there he is."

Laurens tensed. Rather than react, however, he let his head rest against the other's shoulder. "You're drunk, Tench," he replied affectionately.

"That I am, but I'm not blind. Does he know how you feel about him?" He shifted a bit so that he could speak quietly but still be heard over the noise. "Because if not, you might risk it."

"I don't know what you mean, Tench. We all love our Alexander, surely."

"Yes. We all love him," Tilghman agreed. Luckily, at that moment, one of the French officers struck up _Chevaliers de la Table Ronde_ and half the men all joined in lustily. By the time the song ended, Tilghman had found another drink. "I'm just saying, I've noticed. Last winter? Morristown? He was quite the tomcat. But this year? He hasn't courted young ladies since Miss Howard. What's different? You've joined us. Think about it." Without waiting for an answer, he stumbled over to another group to play a hand of cards.

"Gentlemen!" von Steuben called out a few minutes later. " _Wilkommen_ , one and all. We are here to drive the winter cold away and to provide an example to our troops. Pierre--where is Pierre?" The slender man pushed through the crowd. The general continued in his usual patois of mixed French, German, and English. "Ah, _cher_ \--my dear Pierre-Étienne has verified as you arrived that you have upheld the _code vestimentaire_. But what we have not yet determined is: Who has best embodied _der Geist der heutigen Mission_? Now, I want all those of you who feel you have the best costume for the evening to step forward and _nous allons le mettre aux voix_. _Ja?_ " The guests met this pronouncement with cheers. "Come along, then!" At his command, the men bustled about to clear an area in the center of the room. Several of them jostled their friends into the open space, while others volunteered in clearly drunken confidence. Von Steuben then marched up and down the line, much like a formal inspection.

"Good, good--well done--Oh, but where is Hamilton?" Others took up the Baron's query. " _Wo ist Hamilton?_ " he asked Laurens, seeing him standing to one side of the room.

"He was--where is he?" Laurens looked around. He couldn't remember a time since Hamilton had returned to camp, that he did not know the man's exact whereabouts. 

"He can't have left, surely?" Meade speculated. 

"Oh, but this is unacceptable!" von Steuben cried. "We must not let him slip away. Not before we have ascertained whether he truly is the specimen the ladies believe him to be."

This earned a laugh from all the company, but Laurens found he could not join in as heartily as the others. The Baron's strategy was all too transparent. He did not know how he had lost sight of his love, but he hoped suddenly that it meant Hamilton had gone back to their quarters for some reason, rather than be subject to whatever exercise von Steuben had in mind.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Hamilton entered through the curtained foyer, accompanied by Lieutenant DeClerc and Major St.Honoré-Plessy. Von Steuben spotted them at once.

"Ah! Now we may proceed. You must all join the parade, here." They complied without even asking why. DeClerc was in a pair of silk coulottes from which he had cut the bottom, so that they resembled chaps. St.Honoré-Plessy wore a bedsheet as a toga.

For the next ten minutes, von Steuben encouraged the guests to rate the dozen or so men who stood before them. To his credit, once Hamilton realized what was going on, he sought Laurens out and shrugged at him apologetically, but there was no bowing out. His pride wouldn't have withstood the jeers had he tried. In that much, at least Laurens sympathized.

The contestants dwindled to six, including Hamilton, Meade, and Tilghman. "I think we need to see even more of our representatives," von Steuben leered, to the vast amusement of the other soldiers. "I think...they should strip!"

More cheers and shouts. "We'll need more punch, if that's what you want!" said one of the men. Laurens had met him once or twice. He couldn't remember his name, but his accent sounded like Charleston. With a laugh, von Steuben ordered that they all get a fresh round. Hamilton accepted his and, catching Laurens' eye, offered it up like a toast before drinking with a wink.

Tilghman drank, though he looked like he needed no extra courage. Already his shirt was one of the most minimal outfits. And Meade… "I thought, my dear Baron, this was a costume contest, not a beauty pageant."

"If it were that, you'd surely lose!" Gibbs called. But von Steuben quieted the shout of laughter that followed.

"Nein, there is no reason we cannot appreciate your efforts, gentlemen, without also deciding who is, ah, best _equipped_ to bear the cold, _n'est-ce pas_? Well! Then everyone on the count of three--"

"No! One at a time!" someone called. "Give us a chance to evaluate them individually."

" _La musique!_ " demanded one of the French officers.

It quickly devolved from there. Laurens swallowed a bit of bile that rose in the back of his throat. It was practically a miracle that no one humiliated himself with an erection--or more likely, it was the effect of so much alcohol. Nonetheless, they cavorted most shamelessly, naked and uncaring. His stomach roiled from the embarassment of it, and he longed to walk out in protest, but he forced himself to stay. Hamilton japed about with the others, just as ridiculous as anyone. He needed someone to look out for him.

And von Steuben was clearly enjoying every second. He even did a little jig with Meade--a sight Laurens regretted witnessing. He would likely see it in his nightmares for weeks to come. The dancing only stopped because the Baron, wheezing, dropped into a chair on the sidelines. "Ach," he panted, "this is a game for young men."

Pierre fluttered over immediately, bearing a tankard of something. He knelt in front of the general to loosen his neckcloth. " _Mon General, vous devez respirer…. S'il vous plait, mon cher…_ " he pleaded and soothed, until von Steuben, still coughing, waved him off.

"I'm all right--it's all right, Pierre. Nothing at all to fuss about," he replied in German. "You have ruined the mood for our guests," he observed. It was true: half of those still there had sobered up considerably, and many were nervously making for the door. Von Steuben smiled at them all benignly. "All is well, friends!" he assured them. " _Allez, allez_ ," he told the musicians, to get them playing again. They complied, but with a much more sedate tune.

"Perhaps we all ought to call it a night," Laurens said with authority. "It's late, Herr General, and we all have duties to attend in the morning."

"Yeah, and His Exc--I mean, we're meant to be discreet about all this," Meade put in. "C'mon, Hammy, put your clothes on."

"We must have a winner!" DeClerc protested.

"Fine," said Gibbs decisively. "You win, Lieutenant. Tench. Let's go." He picked up Tench's shirt and pressed it into the other's hands. Dumbly, Tilghman dropped it over his head, stabbing his arms through the sleeves.

It took much longer to get the group all together and ready to leave. Most of the other guests were taking their time, as well, either moving slowly due to their drunkeness, or simply reluctant to brave the cold again. Nonetheless, soon they were among the last still in the cabin. Laurens hovered at Hamilton's side while he and Pierre continued to fuss over the Baron.

"Ham. HAM. Put your shirt on and let the General get his rest. General, sir," he said with a nod to the older man. "Pierre-Étienne?"

" _Oui_. Herr Baron, I do believe it's time you went to bed." Pierre hooked his hands under von Steuben's shoulder. To Laurens' discomfort, Hamilton positioned himself opposite. 

"Laurens, help us get him into his room," he pleaded. 

With a sigh, Laurens moved behind the chair. "On three," he directed. 

 

~

 

It took nearly half an hour more to get von Steuben settled, by which time everyone else had disappeared. More than once, before they left, Laurens distinctly heard the name "Willy" on Pierre's lips, but out of deference, neither he nor Hamilton remarked on it. He made them go before von Steuben was asleep, saying only that he would watch over him.

Halfway back to the house, Hamilton giggled. "Willy," he repeated. "It's good it was just us."

"What do you mean?"

"Because...he knows we won't say anything. I guess you're right. He's really in love. They're too cute together."

"Hm. What does Gilbert say? _Elle est l'affaire de personne_."

"No one's business. Right." They walked on a few more yards. The snow had stopped falling while they were at the party. Now the sky was clear, but the top layer had hardened in the deeper cold that had settled over the camp. Their boots crunched through crust and their breath billowed out before them. It sounded loud in the silence of men asleep or trying to sleep.

"I'm sorry, Ham," Laurens said softly.

"About what?"

"You were right. I was...I was jealous of the attention you pay him. But..he's just an old man, isn't he." He refrained from commenting what was evident: that at no point during the night had Hamilton even remotely shown any sexual interest in their host. 

"Correction: he's a dear old man.But--yes. I keep telling you. He flirts, but I've seen it these past days: he belongs entirely to Pierre. And Pierre adores him. 'Watch over him'--that's a pleasant euphemism, isn't it? Odds are he's already snug in bed next to him."

"Shh. He's too old and too fat for that kind of excitement," Laurens said contemplatively. 

"Tonight, maybe, but not all the time. Anyway, that's not what I meant. I just meant--he'll be there with him, all night."

Laurens pulled his hat lower, though it did nothing against the cold. He let Hamilton's statement sink in before speaking again. "We shouldn't have allowed things to go so far."

"That's the doctor in you," Hamilton observed. "But he loved every minute." He leaned in. 

"Drunk?" Laurens asked. He put a steadying arm around him to keep him walking. If it made the walk a little warmer, well, that was just a happy coincidence. 

"Mm."

"Tired," Laurens concluded.

"That, too."

He was tired, too, in truth. Tomorrow, they'd talk about the things Tench had observed, and intimated, and decide if they needed to do anything. But tonight, there was Hamilton's shoulder tucked under his arm, and the scent of his pomade and the heat from his slender body against his. They were in accord again, and that was more important than the argument that had separated them before.

"Let's get you home, then," he said with new confidence. This, he knew how to do.

Hamilton dropped his head onto Laurens' shoulder, still stumbling toward home. "Only if you lie next to me, Jacky," he murmured.

Laurens squeezed him tighter. "All night."

**Author's Note:**

> Dear FallacyFallacy, 
> 
> I am SO SORRY that this took so long to write! You have no idea how the brain weasels got to me last year. My work situation unexpectedly ate up all my will and desire, but here it is--finally! I hope you enjoy it and I apologize for the unforgivable delays.
> 
>  
> 
> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Mon cœur est à toi, pour toujours_ \- My heart is yours, always.  
>  _Wir werden dem Wetter trotzen_ \- we'll defy the weather  
>  _déshabillage_ \- [state of] undress  
>  _Vereinigung_ \- unification  
>  _Niemand darf eintreten, dessen Uniform ganz ist._ / _Personne ne doit entrer dont l'uniforme est entier_ \- none shall be admitted in trousers  
>  _Mon cher, quel délice! Ravissant, mon petit, absolument ravissant._ \- My dear, how delightful! Ravishing, little one, absolutely ravishing.  
>  _code vestimentaire_ \- dress code  
>  der Geist der heutigen Mission - the spirit of tonight's mission  
>  _nous allons le mettre aux voix_ \- we will put it to a vote  
>  _Mon General, vous devez respirer…. S'il vous plait, mon cher…_ \- My General, you must breathe...Please, my dear….
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed this, check out my other Hamilton fic, or follow me on tumblr @gwenlygrace.


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